


Mike Hanson Finds the Remedy

by pinkelephant5



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Gen, Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkelephant5/pseuds/pinkelephant5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike never signed up to manage Henry's secret every minute of the day, but here he is, doing it anyway. And on this particular day, the reveals keep piling up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my previous story, "Mike Hanson Loses His Bliss." If you haven't read that one, here's what you need to know: Mike knows Henry's secret. At the outset of this story, he's the only one at the precinct who does. Okay, that should do it.

When other people stumble onto their coworkers' secrets, it's stuff like nose-picking or stepping out on their spouses. Me? I had to overachieve. I had to find out that I work with a guy who is 236 years old and dies as often as the rest of us clip our toenails, then comes bobbing back to life out of the East River. The day I saw Henry Morgan die and disappear was the day I lost my blissful ignorance about him and his "condition," as he calls it. The thing I miss most about my bliss is the dry car seats. Back then, when he reappeared all wet and naked, he never called me. Now, he calls.

I admit that being one of the select few to know an actual, honest-to-God immortal does have its moments. Loosen him up with a few fancy drinks and Henry gossips like an old lady about famous dead people, especially if Abe is around to egg him on. No, it's not all bad. Just mostly bad.

Never mind about the car seats: the thing I miss most is the simplicity. Before, I came to work and caught bad guys, maybe had a couple beers with friends, then went home and spent some time with the family. Now that I know, I come to work, hide Henry's secret from Jo and everyone else, and catch bad guys while trying not to notice Henry acting all immortal. It's hard to explain what that looks like, but once you start noticing all the suspicious stuff he says and does, you really can't unsee it. I go home to the wife and kids and hide it from them too, which gets tricky when Henry can't reach Abe and I have to explain to Karen why he's calling me for a ride again. She's starting to worry that he's an alcoholic.

Hiding it from Jo is by far the worst part. I hate lying to my partner, even if it's just by omission. She's known for a while that he's hiding _something_ , but she doesn't push him for the truth, and so far he hasn't offered. That was bad enough when she and Henry were just semi-partners and besties, but a few weeks ago they started dating—and he still hasn't told her. That means I know more about her boyfriend than she does. I don't know if she's seen him naked yet, but I certainly have. That makes me the president and sole member of the precinct's I Know Too Much About Henry Morgan Club, and it's stressing me out. If he were still alive, my old man would probably throw his favorite Henry Ford quote at me and say, "Don't find fault, find a remedy," but so far the closest I've come is the bottle of Pepto-Bismol in my desk drawer. It's almost empty again, and I blame Henry.

 

* * *

 

 _Thursday, 2:25 p.m._  

I step off the elevator into the morgue and hope that this will be a short visit. I usually leave most of the morgue trips to Jo, but she and Henry are off tracking down a cold case witness somewhere in the boondocks. It’s not that I’m skeeved out by dead bodies—wrong line of work for that hangup—but the morgue is Henry and Lucas’s weird little basement world. They get so excited about finding body fluid foam and sniffing stomach contents that I keep waiting for them to break into song, and who’s got time for that? I’d rather just hear the bottom line second-hand from Jo, who always spares me the details. I suppose it’s a good thing that it’s been a slow week for new murders, but that means I’m stuck crossing “t”s and dotting “i”s on lingering paperwork, so here I am.

Thankfully, Lucas is at his computer, not not elbow deep in a body. “Hello, Detective Hanson. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” The kid looks happy to see me, and I guess I can’t blame him. With no new cases and no Henry to follow, he’s probably wandering around like a lost duckling down here.

“I just need the Stevenson file for a quick fact check, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

 He sorts through some files and comes up with the one I need. “Here you go—Mr. Stevenson’s last testament, so to speak.”

“Thanks.” I turn to leave.

 “Leaving so soon?” he asks. “You just got here.”

I can’t stop my eyes from rolling a little before I turn back to him. I knew this would happen. As much as I’d like to avoid paperwork, I don’t need my own duckling to babysit today. Or ducksit. “I should really get my report submitted. You know how Reece is.”

 The “bros united against The Man” approach seems to be working. He nods and says, "Yeah, I hear you. She can be a real slave driver." Then he winces when he remembers who “The Man” is in this case. “Wait, no, that’s probably racist, and sexist—best case scenario, highly insensitive and NSFW. Reece is a tough but fair woman who could easily kick my ass if she wanted to and let’s just forget I said anything.”

“I would be happy to forget this whole conversation.” An alert noise from his computer announces new email, and it's the distraction I need to make a break for the elevator.

I’m halfway to freedom when I hear him mutter to his screen, “This is weird. ‘The truth about Henry Morgan’?”

I’m just going to keep walking. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, get in the elevator, and go about my business. It’s probably just some weird new spam that plugs in the name of your boss. I did not volunteer to be president of the Henry Fan Club, and it’s not my job to guard his secret every minute of the day. I’m leaving.

Shit. He saved my life. I can’t just leave.

I turn back and join Lucas in front of his computer. He just opened an email sent to his work address with the subject, “The truth about Henry Morgan.” Inside it says:

 

 

> _Who—or WHAT—is Henry Morgan? A liar and a monster. He doesn’t think you deserve to know, but I do. Another winner every 30 minutes!_

 

There’s a video file attached. This can’t be good. Lucas hovers his mouse over the icon and double-clicks.

“Whoa, are you sure you should be doing that?” I ask. “You’ll give the whole precinct a computer virus or something.”

“Not likely from an .mp4 file. Besides, the department’s anti-malware filters would have snagged it.” It sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. Crap.

I try to think of another excuse to delete the message in case it’s not just clever spam, but the video has begun to play, and short of acting massively suspicious, all I can do is watch. On the screen, we see a street and sidewalk lit by street lamps. The footage is smart phone-quality, good but not professional. The camera zooms in past the occasional car or truck zooming past and focuses on the person across the street. It’s a man wearing a scarf and checking a pocket watch, and he’s not looking where he’s going. This is definitely not spam.

Lucas is glued to the screen. “Whoa, does Henry have another stalker already? Because this is seriously creepy.” A date and time stamp has been added in the corner. My stomach clenches up a little, because I know what’s about to happen. This is footage from the first night he ever called me for a riverside pick-up, after he’d been walking around distracted and stepped right in front of a—

“HOLY SHIT!” Lucas yelps, then claps a hand over his mouth when the rest of the morgue staff turns to stare. I give them a shrug and say, “New Star Wars trailer.” That seems to satisfy them for now. The kid has not so much as blinked. I never asked Henry for the gory details of that death, but now I've seen for myself. He wasn’t thrown or dragged when the semi hit him; he went straight under the wheels with barely a bump. The semi doesn’t slow down or even honk, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I scrolled back and saw a cell phone glow in the cab.

The video is silent, and I’m guessing that’s because the person holding the phone just made all sorts of sounds that could identify them, and they were smart enough to delete the audio track. I’m grateful to see that the footage is not high enough resolution to show _too_  much detail, just enough to make what happened unmistakeable. The camera focuses on a crumpled, person-shaped form wearing Henry’s clothes and holds steady on the body. From personal experience I think I know what’s coming next. Sure enough, there’s a sudden flash of light, and the body is gone. A few cars even speed right over the spot like nothing happened. A second later, the video cuts to black. 

I look up at Lucas’s face. His hand has dropped away from his mouth, but not by much, like he forgot that it’s still just hovering there in front of him. Hopefully, he’ll just blow this off as a hoax and my work here will be done.

“I knew it,” he whispers, then looks at me and says it louder. “I knew it!” We get looks from the staff again, and he adds, “Sorry, I…really love Star Wars.” Then he turns back to me with a genuinely gleeful look and stage whispers, “I knew it! They’re real, and Henry is one of them!”

“One of who?”

“The Immortals!”

So much for finishing my paperwork.

 

* * *

 

I manage to drag Lucas into Henry's office and we log onto the computer at his desk. The glass walls don’t have blinds, but at least now we have a closed door and a screen no one else can see. Lucas watches the video again at full size, then a third time to pause and examine frames and mutter about "no signs of compositing,” whatever that means. I don't bother trying to stop him. The best I can do is make little suggestions about how this or that part might be faked, but it's no use telling an amateur filmmaker anything about filmmaking. 

“I can’t believe it,” he says at last.

“Really?” I ask him, “because it sounds like you completely believe some nut job who’s probably blackmailing your friend—or worse.” I commandeer the mouse and close the video window. “Now stop watching that thing and let me see the original message.”  

Lucas keeps talking. “I mean, there’s always been something about him, you know? Something kind of spooky. Which I totally admire, by the way, the way he keeps everything so civil and charming even when he’s making these wildly obscure observ—“

“Do you two need a moment alone?” I try to derail his lovefest.

He finishes anyway. “I’m just saying, I knew he was special. I just didn’t realize he was EPIC.” He sounds awestruck. As in, struck with a 2x4 made of awe and suffering from a disorienting head wound.

I can see that I need to change my approach here. Lucas practically thought Henry was supernatural _before_ he saw the video, so convincing him otherwise now is going to be a big waste of my time. Better to enlist his help in keeping this club small. “Before you build a shrine to the guy, maybe we should figure out who sent this video and why, and maybe stop him from sending it to someone else.” I point to the screen.

Lucas nods like he agrees, but he’s still in fantasyland. “I always thought I was Watson to his Sherlock, but now I realize I’m Ramirez to his MacLeod. Except with my head still attached. Maybe I’m Brenda...no, that must be Jo.”

This kid is such a dork it’s physically painful to watch. Lucky for Henry he’s such a loyal dork.

He’s still rambling. “I can’t believe he and Jo have been keeping it from us all this time.”

Wait, what? “What makes you think Jo knows?”

“Well, I mean, she’s got to, right? With how close they were even before the dating? And now with the dating? Otherwise Henry would be, like, the worst boyfriend ev…oh.” I can’t be bothered to hide exactly what I think about Jo not knowing, and Lucas looks like a few more pieces just fell into place. “Oh, he is gonna be in such deep sh—“

“Shall we get back to finding this guy?” I cut in, but I don’t argue. He absolutely will be.

 

* * *

 

We glean all we can from the email, but there’s only so much we can do. Normally I would call in the IT nerds right about now, but in the interest of containment, that’s not an option. I try yet again to call Henry via Jo, but her phone is still going straight to voicemail. They must still be out of range.

While Lucas is poking around in the email metadata, I step into an empty lab to call Abe. He’s been the Official Secret Keeper for his dear old dad a lot longer than I have, so I’m kind of hoping they’ve been through this before. Maybe they have a family contingency plan.

Abe sounds concerned, but not as panicky as I expected. “This sounds even worse than when those hacktivists threatened to out him. Sometimes I think Henry is onto something, avoiding technology—but don’t tell him I said so.” I can hear him opening and shutting drawers. “Good luck finding this guy, Detective. When you get a hold of Henry, tell him I’ll have his bag and passport waiting. Not that I don’t have every confidence in your abilities, but…you know. Just in case.”

“Sure. Thanks, Abe.” Apparently, Henry’s contingency plan is “RUN AWAY!” It was so much funnier when Monty Python did it.

 

* * *

 

 _2:59 p.m._  

It’s been nearly half an hour since the first email arrived, and I’m sitting at my desk pretending to do paperwork while trying to keep an eye on every person in the bullpen. Lucas is downstairs doing the same thing with the morgue staff.

Three o’clock. Now it’s been thirty minutes exactly. The sender strikes me as the precise type, and I ramp up my observation of everyone who’s in front of a computer screen. I look for signs of shock or surprise, but so far nothing unusual is happening. Maybe I should call Lucas—no, he’ll let me know if it happens down there.

I’m so intent on everyone else that it takes me a few minutes to realize that _I_ have new mail. Sure enough, it’s labeled, “The truth about Henry Morgan,” and it contains the same message exactly. I’m the second reveal. 

Ha! Suck it, you bastard. This is old news to me, and it means an extra thirty minutes for us to work on finding you. Not that we’re making much progress, but maybe Henry will get back before Reveal #3. Then he can manage his own damn crisis.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

When Jo finally does call in, I pick up after half a ring. “Jo! Welcome back to cell tower range! How’s the case going?”

“Not bad. I think we may be onto something with—“

“That’s great,” I interrupt. “Hey, could you put Henry on the phone? There’s some gross morgue stuff Lucas needs to ask him.”

“Oh. Uh, sure.” Jo seems surprised, and she should be, since I’m not usually such an ass on the phone, but I hear a muffled exchange, then Henry is on the line.

“Yes, Lucas, what is it?”

“Nope, still Hanson. You’re not on speaker, are you, Doc?” As if he knows where that button is or how to use it, but it pays to be cautious.

“No, why?”

“Because someone just emailed Lucas a video of you getting flattened by a semi and flashing away into thin air.”

There’s a moment of silence, and I can only hope that he turned away from Jo. I’ve warned him time and again that he has zero poker face. “Yes, Lucas, thank you for telling me. I’d best get back to the lab as soon as possible.”

“You do that,” I say. “In the meantime, give me your email password so I can see if they contacted you too.” The NYPD’s data security regulations will just have to take the day off.

He mumbles the password under his breath and hangs up. I assume he is now spinning some ridiculous yarn for Jo about why they need to speed right back to the precinct even though “it’s nothing serious.” Good luck, pal.

 

* * *

 

I log in to Henry’s email, and sure enough, he got his own copy of the video, along with a different message.

 

> _Lucas Wahl knows your secret now. Who’s next?_
> 
> _I don’t know what the hell you are, and I don’t care. If you don’t want this to keep spreading, deposit $500K in the off-shore account below. Until then another friend of yours will get a message every 30 min. Don’t delay! If you don’t pay by 5pm, look for your 20 secs of fame on YouTube, Reddit, Tumblr and the news at 6._
> 
> _My fee buys you a virus that destroys every copy. I’m waiting._

I really hate blackmailers. I have not spent the last month chugging Pepto and protecting this damn secret just to have some greedy lowlife turn all that effort into nothing. I wanted Henry to tell someone other than me, but not the whole precinct, or the whole world, and not like this. For Abe and Jo’s sake—and Henry’s—this bastard is going down.

God knows how I’m going to keep all these worms in the can, though.

 

* * *

 

“How does the blackmailer know we won’t just blab to each other right away? The every-30-minutes thing would be pointless then.” Lucas looks up from his attempt to line up frames of the video with a Google street view of the buildings across the street.

It’s a valid question. “They're probably counting on our friendship to not spread a story that could ruin Henry’s life—even though it’s obviously fake.”

Lucas ignores that last part. “How do you think the blackmailer is choosing us? How do they know that we are Henry’s sanctum sanctorum of closest friends?” I give him a look, and he backtracks. “Okay, or the closest Henry comes to an inner sanctum. Maybe the blackmailer is another Immortal.” He’s warming up to this theory now. “He—or she—and Henry have been playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse for hundreds of years, and we are merely the latest in a long line of mortal pawns.”

I roll my eyes. “Or they could’ve seen us at a crime scene, or stalked Henry the regular mortal way.”

“Don’t you at least wonder if it might be true? About Henry, I mean?”

“I don’t have to wonder. I know.” Lucas’s eyes get a little wider. “That it’s not true,” I clarify. “I know that it’s not true.”

The kid is getting excited again. “That’s it, isn’t it?” He starts shaking a finger at me like some over-caffeinated conspiracy theorist who just found the mailing address for Area 51. “You already knew!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, and it’s not hard to sound irritated.

“No, it makes sense now! That video didn’t surprise you at all, and you’ve been trying to talk me out of believing the whole time! You’re protecting Henry’s secret!”

“Please. If he did have a secret like that, why would he tell me of all people?”

“You probably found out by mistake, then pledged to guard it with your life! Oh man, Jo’s gonna be even madder when she finds out you knew even before all this. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Henry you told me.”

“I didn’t tell you anything!” I might have yelled that a little, so I take a breath to calm down. I can’t help it; all this talk about pledging myself to Henry and Jo being mad at me is irritating, and closer to the truth than I’d like.

 

* * *

 

_3:40 p.m._

It’s ten minutes past deadline, and nothing has happened. I don’t like it. We’re back in Henry’s office, trying to decide what to do next.

 We each went back to our desks in time for the reveal—I took the opportunity to chug some Pepto— but three-thirty came and went, and nothing. No gasps, no jumping out of seats, no furtive glances. I suppose there was one source of furtive glancing—me— but this is not my first undercover rodeo. I know how to keep it on the DL. I also casually asked a few people if they knew when Henry and Jo would be back, just to see if the mention of his name made anyone twitchy, but nothing.

Neither of us have had much luck finding decent leads. We’re pretty sure we’ve isolated the apartment building where the video was taken, but gleaning anything more specific is beyond our technical abilities.

“Maybe Henry can sense where other Immortals are and he’s confronting them right now,” Lucas suggests.

“Would you give it a rest?” This is getting seriously old. “Have you forgotten about that 500K? This is not about secret immortal beings, it’s about money. Whatever you think you know, or think I know, it’s way more likely that this is some huge hoax. There is no proof that this video is real.”

“Oh, it’s real, all right.” A new voice speaks up from the doorway. We look up to see a youngish guy with glasses and a fro of dark hair.

I frown. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Steve. I work in IT.” He looks like he’s not sure what he’s doing here. “Look,” he finally says, “I don’t know how he did it, and I don’t know why I got this email, but I’m the precinct’s forensic video expert, and I’m telling you that Dr. Morgan definitely got flattened by a semi and disappeared.” Lucas and I don’t say a word, and Steve from IT shifts uncomfortably. “So, can I come in?”

 

* * *

 

“And you’ve never met Henry before? You’re sure?” Steve is sitting in one of Henry’s guest chairs, and Lucas and I are standing in front of him. I fold my arms and give Steve an interrogation room stare. Lucas crosses his arms, too. Looks like I have a duckling after all.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I mean, I’ve seen him around, and I know who he is, but we’ve never actually met. Why does that matter?”

“Because, ‘Steve,’ ” Lucas air quotes with relish while I try not to roll my eyes at the dramatics, “so far only Henry’s closest confidantes have gotten this email. Why you?”

The IT guy gives a nervous shrug. “I don’t know, maybe whoever’s sending them wanted someone to verify the video wasn’t faked.” He shifts closer to the edge of his chair and leans forward. “Before you keep interrogating me, can we just circle back to the fact that the medical examiner is like, Doctor Who or something?”

Dear God, not another nerd. Is there not a single rock drummer in this precinct? Or a jock? I would settle for a soccer fan.

Lucas opens his mouth to spout some kind of nerd nonsense, but I talk over him. “Henry is not Doctor Who, he is not a vampire, and he is not some sword-wielding Scotsman who chops off heads. Right now all that matters is that he’s a colleague who is being blackmailed. Am I the only person who remembers that?”

That shuts them both up for about three seconds, until Steve adds, “But he is immortal, right?”

“Yes, I’m afraid that I am.”

All three of us turn to see Henry closing his office door behind him. He looks at me first, and I sort of shrug. Hey, I tried. He looks at the other two, then back at me. “Well, Detective, it looks like you got your wish after all. You wanted more people to know.”

“Yeah, but these two?”

Henry walks up to his assistant, who looks like he has so much to say he can’t decide where to start. “Lucas, you are a very intelligent young man, and a good friend. I hope I can trust in your discretion.”

“Henry, I’ve totally got your back. Whatever you need: alibis, silence unto death, second sword hand—just name it. This is just…so cool!” He goes in for the hug, and Henry makes a very awkward effort to move his arms.

“Yes, thank you, Lucas. Let’s just start with discretion, shall we?” He finally pulls away and turns to the IT guy.

Steve reaches out his hand to shake Henry’s and says, “You can count on me, too, Doctor.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.” Henry frowns. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

 

* * *

 

“What’s with the sudden openness?” I’ve pulled Henry away from the Geek Squad to have a private word.

He smiles grimly. “I watched the video. It is rather compelling, and the sender’s final deadline is fast approaching. Rather than waste what little time I have trying to prove it’s a fake, which the evidence will not support, I’ve decided to play the hand I was dealt, so to speak.” He sighs. “Besides, I’m tired of running.” He looks past me at nothing, and I wonder where—make that when—his mind is.

I need to keep him in the here and now, so I walk back to his desk where the other two are back at work, and Henry wakes up enough to follow. “So where’s Jo?” I ask.

“She mentioned wanting to search through some old files pertaining to our cold case,” Henry answers. He’s trying to sound casual, but I pick up his vibe.

“She ‘mentioned’ it? You sent her to the Dungeons, didn’t you?” The Dungeons, officially known as Off-Site Records Storage. Considered a fate worse than death by most.

“Detective, I doubt I have the power to ‘send’ Jo anywhere she doesn’t choose to go. I merely suggested she might spend some time researching while I finished up a delicate…intestinal matter for Lucas.”

“You scared her away from the morgue with fake poop?” I have to admit, I’m impressed. “Sneaky. I just figured you might have a little more pull now that you two are locking lips, and whatever else.”

Henry gives me a look, but Steve speaks up first. “Don’t we want Detective Martinez to be here? We could use all the help we can get, and the next thirty minute mark is coming up fast.”

Lucas gets a slightly pained expression on his face and shakes his head not-so-subtly to signal to Steve that he just committed a new guy faux pas. “Jo doesn’t actually know yet.”

Steve looks genuinely confused and asks Henry, “But haven’t you guys been partners for, like, a year? And now you’re dating? Why doesn’t she know?”

We’re all looking at Henry now, and I’m just as curious to hear his answer as the other two.

“It’s a bit more complicated than simply blurting it out over drinks.” He sounds defensive, but he looks a little guilty if you ask me.

“Sure,” says Steve, “but I’ve seen you two together. I was even the third wheel on a very awkward elevator ride where I’m pretty sure I interrupted something. You two are totally into each other.” Just like that, Henry’s expression goes from guilty to embarrassed; I don’t think I’ve ever seen him blush before. “So why don’t you tell her?” Well played, new guy.

Henry fidgets a little and repeats, “It’s complicated.”

Steve just shakes his head and goes back to typing furiously. “You are going to be in so much trouble.” Lucas doesn’t speak, maybe out of loyalty to Henry, but he nods slowly. Henry only sighs to himself. For the first time today, I’m a little happy to have junior club members.

 

* * *

 

_4:00 p.m._

Thanks to our new personal IT guy, we will know exactly who gets the 4:00 message as soon as it arrives. Steve can’t read people’s mail, but he can scan for a data packet of exactly the right size and know who received it.

Henry and I are waiting at my desk, and Lucas and Steve are downstairs.

“Are you sure you still want to be here, Henry?” I ask. “Abe has your bag packed and ready to go.”

“Trying to get rid of me, Detective?” He’s keeping his tone light, but I can see the haunted look in his eyes. When I don’t say anything, he goes on. “The trouble is, Abe only packed one bag—mine. He has made it very clear that he’s had enough of running and starting over. If I leave, I leave him behind. And at his age, who knows—“ He cuts off, but I get it. I feel that pesky little twinge in my gut that I get whenever I remember that Abe is Henry’s son. That damn twinge is responsible for 90% of the help I give him, and for more heartburn than all my favorite street foods combined.

I divert the topic a little. “Anything else keeping you in town lately?”

Despite the looming clock that now reads 4:02—is that thing fast?—he smiles a little. “If you are referring to my relationship with Detective Martinez, the answer is between her and myself.”

“So ‘yes’ then.”

He's about to respond when my phone rings—it’s Steve. I hand it to Henry. The Jo-induced smile has vanished from his face as he answers. “Yes?” He listens with a frozen look that I can’t name at first, until it comes to me: dread. “All right. Thank you.” As he hangs up, he turns to face an open door in one corner of the room. Someone comes to stand in that doorway, and Henry locks eyes with her for a long moment before she speaks.

“Dr. Morgan, may I see you in my office, please? You too, Detective Hanson.” Reece looks more deadly serious than usual. I, for one, would not dare to talk back to that tone, but Henry’s crisis must be making him reckless.

“Actually, Lieutenant, I need you to come with us.” She raises one eyebrow in stony silence, but Henry doesn’t fold. “Please. It’s important.”

“I should say so.” I don’t think she’s going to budge at first, but then she nods her head and says, “Lead the way, Doctor. I look forward to hearing your explanation.”

None of us speaks a word all the way to Henry’s office. I have Steve the IT guy beat by a mile, because this is by far the most awkward elevator ride in precinct history.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 Reece arches her eyebrows in surprise when she enters Henry’s office and sees the size of our little gang. “Mr. Wahl, Mr. Thatcher, you’re part of this as well?”

“Mr. Thatcher?” I frown. “Who’s—oh.”

Steve from IT raises his hand. “That would be me.”

“Sorry.” I’m not that sorry. It’s not my fault we didn’t do formal introductions, I’m not the social secretary here. Oh, God help me, I’m starting to think of this as an actual club.

“Now that we all know each other,” Reece says, “would someone like to tell me what’s going on?”

Henry clears his throat. “Lieutenant Reece, may I assume that you just received a rather…unexpected email?”

“You may.” She isn’t giving him an inch. Man, she’s good.

“Then like the others here,” he gestures to all of us, “you have been dragged into a scheme to blackmail me. Even if I could produce the large sum of money he has demanded, I have no intention of paying. Which means that unless we can find him and stop him by 5:00, that video will be widely broadcast, and the life I have built here in New York will be destroyed.”

“Are his claims true?”

I can practically hear the wheels turning in Henry’s head, but honestly, what are his options right now? He looks her straight in the eyes. “They are.”

“Is your secret illegal?”

Henry frowns, and so do I. Her question catches us both off-guard. “To the best of my knowledge, no.”

“And does it interfere with your work for the NYPD?”

He answers honestly. “Occasionally, yes, but mostly I believe it makes me better at my job.”

Reece considers for a moment. “Then we are going to put an end to this, and afterwards, you can decide how much to tell us, or not tell us. I hope everyone here will respect that.”

Henry nods and gives her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

All of us gather around behind the IT guy. He’s flipping at high speed between screen shots and lines of code and tech stuff I don’t get. Reece asks, “Where are we with finding our suspect?”

“He’s being smart about this,” Steve says. “He uses a new email address for each message and bounces each one through a different series of servers. With more time I could trace them, but as it is…”

“Have you found anything else in the file itself?” Henry asks.

Lucas points to a building on the screen. “We think we’ve pinpointed the apartment building it was shot from, but there are dozens of units facing that street.”

“We ought to send a few people to that location,” Reece suggests. “At least then when we learn more, we’ll be ready to act, assuming that the blackmailer is sending from the same apartment.” Something else occurs to her. “Or is Detective Martinez already standing by?' 

We all look at Henry. Again. “Jo is not yet aware of my…unusual circumstances.”

Reece’s eyebrows arch again, more slowly this time. On the way up, they manage to question Henry’s trust in his partner _and_ his suitability as boyfriend material. I swear, this woman is an eyebrow samurai. Out loud, she only says, “I see.”

Henry squirms. “It’s…complicated.” This time even he winces at how pathetic that sounds.

“With only one reveal left before his 5:00 deadline, there is every chance that she will be the next recipient,” Reece points out. “Is that how you want her to find out, Henry?”

“You’re right,” he says, “she is the most likely target.” He turns to Steve. “Is there any way to block her access to email temporarily?”

“I could…” The new guy is giving Henry kind of a dirty look. Actually, we’re all giving him dirty looks.

Lucas speaks up first. “Henry, are you sure you still want to keep her in the dark? Even when all of us know?”

Henry looks at us, his newly expanded Secret-Keeping Club, and quickly realizes that we double as the For God’s Sake, Tell Jo Club. Finally, he says, “I know I need to tell her—but you’re right, Lieutenant. This is not how she should find out. I would also prefer not to force it on her with a ticking clock behind us. I suspect that your predictions have been correct and she will be…less than thrilled by how long it’s taken me. Please give me the chance to make this a little easier on her.” That earns him a few narrowed eyes. “Yes, and easier on me too.”

By silent vote, the club makes a decision. The new guy tappa-taps on the keyboard and says, “Okay, I’ve diverted her incoming messages into a separate account. Neither she nor the blackmailer should notice anything is wroing. Besides the no messages thing.” 

Henry smiles. “Thank you.”

“Hey, I did it for Jo.”

I snort. “Have you even met Jo, new guy?”

He sniffs. “No, but I once dated a girl for six months before she told me that she was a furry. I’m sympathetic.”

Lucas nods. “I hear that.”

“To be frank, why _are_ you here, Mr. Thatcher?” Reece asks. “The rest of us work with Dr. Morgan every day. You do not.”

“I have no idea,” Steve says. “We thought maybe the guy wanted to prove the video was real? Or maybe he just played staff directory roulette to mix it up a little.”

“Mix it up…” Henry’s eyes go wide, and he’s using his “Eureka!” voice.

Reece must hear it too.“Henry, what have you got?”

“Steve’s last name is Thatcher. Using the standard naming scheme, his NYPD email address begins ‘sthatcher.’ ” Steve nods. “The Chief Medical Examiner is Thomas Hatcher. He uses his middle initial in his professional title, making his email ’tshatcher.’

“It was a typo,” Reece concludes. “The blackmailer meant to send that file to your boss.”

“So I’m not even supposed to be here?” I can’t tell if IT Steve is peeved or disappointed. 

Reece turns to him. “Maybe not, Mr. Thatcher, but this means that our suspect didn’t expect us to have a forensic video expert. You are our secret weapon.”

Damned if he doesn’t sit a little straighter at that and give the screen an extra-determined stare. “I guess I can try to triangulate the location of the video shooter into a specific apartment, but it’ll take a little time.” And that is why Reece is in charge.

I turn for the door. “Make that a very little, and I’ll head for the building. It’s only about seven minutes from here.”

Lucas stands up. “I’ll go with you.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think that’s a good—”

He cuts me off. “You need some backup, and it’s not like you have a lot of options. Besides, I can help if things get…you know…”

“Physical?”

“Technical.”

There’s no time to debate. “All right, come on. Is your phone charged up? We’ll need to stay in constant contact with this room.”

I glance back at Henry on my way out the door, and he gives me a little nod. “Don’t worry, Doc,” I say, “we’ll stop him.” I hope I sound more confident than I feel.

 

* * *

 

By the time we’re in my car and pulling out of the parking garage, Lucas has called Steve and we’re all on speaker together. Steve spends the next six and a half minutes technobabbling his way through the various steps he’s trying, but he doesn’t sound too confident that they’ll work.

Henry is trying to reassure him. “I’m lucky to have your expertise at all—thank you.”

“And whatever kung fu you’ve got, make it quick,” I say. “We just pulled up at the apartments.”

“It’s not an exact science,” Steve says, and he sounds a little panicky. “I mean, it is an exact science, but not if I answer in the next 30 seconds. That would just be a guess.”

“It’s not a guess, it’s instinct,” Henry is saying. “Now please, we need an apartment number.”

I’m out of the car and hitting door buzzers. Thankfully, the annoyed super gets close enough to the window for me to flash my badge, and we’re into the hall. “It’s now or never, New Guy,” I say. “Use the Force or something.” Lucas gives me a funny look, but I shrug. I’ll take whatever works, because we’re out of time.

“Okay, okay! I think I’ve got it! He’s in 217!”

Just call me the nerd whisperer. I run for the stairwell.

 

* * *

 

 _5:37 p.m._  

“…and then Mike kicked in the door, and we didn’t see the guy at first, but then we found him sitting on the john. We literally caught him with his pants down!” We’re back at the precinct, our suspect is in booking, and Lucas is giving everyone in Henry’s office the play-by-play. He’s obviously never been on a raid before, and judging from the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes he's cast himself as Bruce Willis in _Die Hard_. “I saw his laptop sitting there and took a look. He’d already sent Jo the email, or thought he had, but I knew right away that we needed to disable his network connection to truly disarm him. Declaw the beast, ya know? So I found the router in the bedroom closet and ripped the cords right out of the wall!” 

“Yeah, it was very dramatic,” I say. You wouldn’t believe how dramatic he made it. Chasing down an armed suspect or defusing a bomb is nothing compared to his flair for cord-ripping. Of course, when he realized it was a cable modem he had to stop hulking out long enough to crouch down and unscrew the little coax connector, but I'll let him have his badass moment and not mention that now.

Reece turns to me. “So who is this guy?”

“Darius Powell. Small-time drug dealer you crossed paths with last year, Henry. Remember the charming gentleman who sold you dope for research purposes?”

“Ah, yes,” he says pleasantly, but Reece rolls her eyes at the memory.

I go on. “Apparently, he recognized you out his window and thought he might get some valuable footage of the fancy police doctor scoring dope again. Imagine his surprise when he saw…what he saw.”

“This all seems pretty ambitious for your average drug dealer,” Reece comments.

“He’s been taking online computer science classes, trying to upgrade from dealer to hacker, and this was the perfect ‘class project’ for him.” I turn to the guy sitting at the computer. “We would never have found him in time without you, new guy. Nice job.”

Steve is smiling and basking in the glory of Henry and Reece’s congratulations when Lucas leans over to me and mutters, “He told us 217—and you went straight for 219. How did you know?”

I shrug. “There was a sugared-up chorus of ‘Let It Go’ coming from 217. Unless our blackmailer was hosting a six-year-old’s birthday party on the side, I figured the new guy got us close…but not quite.” Lucas smiles.

“There’s something else,” Steve says to all of us. “I can’t guarantee we’ve destroyed every copy of that file. He probably has backups on servers scattered all over the place.”

“I think I have that taken care of,” Henry says. “I sent a message to a hacker friend of mine. She promised to see to it that this video is never seen again.”

Lucas whistles low. “Calling in favors from the Faceless? That is so badass. It’s like your secrets have secrets.”

“What secrets?”

We all turn to see Jo standing in the doorway.

 

* * *

 

 Jo is reading the room like the good detective she is, starting with her partner and moving to each of us in turn. “Mike, Lieutenant, Lucas…sorry, who are you?”

Steve puts up an awkward hand in greeting. “Steve from IT. Nice to meet you.”

Jo circles back around to Henry. “Henry, what’s going on? Don’t tell me they were all helping you with your ‘delicate intestinal matter.’ ”

We all turn to Henry. Maybe this shouldn’t be any of our business, but at this point, it pretty much is. Time to step up, old man.

Henry turns fully to Jo and looks at her like she’s the only person in the room. “Jo, the next time you check your email, you’ll find a message from a man who meant to blackmail me.” I hear the tapping keys of Steve taking the hint and quietly rerouting her mail back to normal. “There is a video attached that is…rather disturbing. I won’t tell you whether to watch it or not, but I am asking you to let me explain first.”

Jo gets a dawning look on her face. “This is it, isn’t it? The thing you weren't ready to tell me about.” She glances around. “And they all know, don't they? Even the IT guy.” The room gets distinctly shifty and uncomfortable.

Lucas clears his throat. “Honestly, we only know the bare minimum. I’m sure the Doc is going to give you the royal treatment.” His eyes go a little wider. “Wait, are you royalty?”

Henry clenches his jaw. “No, Lucas, I am not.”

“Okay, no, that’s cool.”

“Not all of us know, Detective.”

Everyone looks at Reece in surprise. I say what we’re all thinking. “But Lieutenant, didn’t you get the email?”

She nods. “I did.” She turns to Henry. “I received a message that was obviously meant to harm or discredit a member of my team. One look at your face told me that whatever that video file contained, it was no hoax, so I didn’t watch it.”

Henry frowns. “I don’t understand. If you knew it was true, why didn’t you watch?”

Reece smiles a little. “No one deserves to be judged by how their enemies see them, Doctor. If you wish to tell me in your own way, you will.” She looks over at Jo. “But I think your partner deserves to know first.” Just like that, she crosses the room and opens the door. “Come on, everyone. Time to go.” Forget samurai; that woman has Jedi powers.

We all file out starting with Reece, who heads for the elevator as cool as anything, as if we’d only been discussing the weather. Lucas and Steve are making plans to bond over pizza and Xbox later, and I can see the writing on the wall. By tomorrow there will definitely be a code word or secret handshake for this club. I’m debating between “no, thanks,” and “hell no!” for when they ask me to use it.

I try to make eye contact with either Jo or Henry as I leave, just to make sure they’re okay, but they don’t even know I’m here anymore. They’re already staring intensely into each other’s eyes, gearing up for their first major Couple Talk. I pull the door closed behind me with a click and finally, three hours and three(ish) reveals later, I escape the morgue.

I feel a little twinge of sympathy for Henry—just a little. Most guys only have to reveal jealous exes or criminal records to new girlfriends, not unexplained supernatural powers. Mostly, though, I’m happy for Jo. How she deals with the news is completely her prerogative, but she deserves to know. The dizzying number of issues involved with having an immortal boyfriend makes me want to finish off that bottle of Pepto in my desk, then chase it with a few beers, but if anyone can handle the ridiculous situation that is Henry Morgan, it’s Jo.

Honestly, I’m happy for myself too. I may always be the founding member of the precinct’s I Know Too Much About Henry Morgan Club, but at least my days as president and sole member are over. I’m also willing to bet that Lucas will be thrilled to take over playing getaway driver after Henry’s next skinny dip. Aside from pink goo, that’s as close to a remedy as I’m gonna get. I’ll take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based the name of this story on the Henry Ford quote that Mike uses, but later I realized that the Jason Mraz song "The Remedy" is strangely fitting.


End file.
